


Secrets of the Darkest Art

by milograham



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Maybe!), Avada Kedavra, Dark Arts, Dark Magic, Dementors, Dolores Umbridge Being an Asshole, Dolores Umbridge is Her Own Warning, F/M, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Horcruxes, M/M, Ministry Time-Turners, Muggle Reader, Muggles, Murder, Mystery, Original Character(s), Original Male Character(s) - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reader is a Seventh Year, Secrets, Slytherin, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin Main Character, Slytherin Original Character(s), Somewhat canon-compliant, Tags May Change, The Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter) is Terrible, Time-Turners, Unforgivable Curses (Harry Potter), Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24921787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milograham/pseuds/milograham
Summary: Oakley Hawthorne was born a Muggle. A boring, ordinary Muggle. He lived in a Muggle neighborhood with Muggle parents and had Muggle friends. He wanted anything but to be normal. He wanted adventure. He wanted things that his small, bland neighborhood could not offer him.How curious it is when an old book is found to be in his possession... a book talking of things not of his world. A book of magic— dark magic. A book, he thinks, that has the power to change the course of his future forever and alter his soul in a way that cannot be undone.Will Oakley ignore the darkness spilling from the book's pages? Or will he succumb to the pull of something beyond his control— the very precious and unordinary chance of a lifetime?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Male Character(s), Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter/Original Male Character(s), Hermione Granger/Original Male Character(s), Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

_\- Eighteen Years Ago -_

"Your son... your son must never know." An old, wrinkled hand trembled with anxiety and nimble fingers ran through greying hair. Through her eyeglasses, the couple could see a rare gleam— tears from the old woman who never cried. Hardly.

She cried a few times as a child and she cried when her best friend died: The previous headmaster— Albus Dumbledore. 

"Headmaster McGonagall," Annalise and Jonathan Hawthorne asked her. "If we do this, our child will be safe?"

"Yes," the headmaster said. "As well as the rest of wizardkind. That is why your discretion is of the upmost importance; not only does your child have the potential to destroy _themselves_ if they find out..." she took a deep breath. 

"...But they have the potential to destroy the entire world." 

**Chapter 1**

_I have to get home,_ I remember thinking. _I have to get home now. Before she finds it._

I flew through the next three lights right as they turned red, pushing my luck as I careened down the road back towards my home on my motorcycle. I had already had enough close shaves with the policemen here and I didn't need to give them anything more to remember me by.

In my defense, though, I was new to London— relatively speaking. I had only been here for around a year and a half. I was still getting used to this whole driving on the left side of the road thing. At first, I thought living here would be just like living in America. But that was before I accidentally spilled paint water on my jeans and exclaimed, "Dang it! My pants are sopping, now!" and left an entire classroom of Brits rolling off their chairs in laughter. "It's _trousers,"_ my table mate whispered through tears... a few moments too late.

I turned into the driveway, slammed my brakes and turned the bike off. I ripped my helmet from my head and threw it at the handlebars, hoping it would catch. It didn't— and I heard it clatter to the pavement, adding yet another dent to the hundreds it had already. _I'll deal with it later,_ I decided. My metal keychain seemed to not want to work as I fumbled with and struggled to get a good grip on the one that fit the house. Finally I managed to open the front door and run upstairs, and I practically knocked the hinges off my bedroom door once I got up the stairs.

 _Crap._ The rows in the carpet never glared so menacingly at me until now. _She had already been here._ I steadied my breathing and knelt down to look under my bed. _Please be there, please be there, please be there..._

I let out an audible sigh of relief as my eyes met the black sheet covering the wooden box I had hidden. Suspicious, right? I'm fine— my mother almost never comes in here. It's the cleaning lady I had to worry about... Mrs. Orchid. I was almost glad I missed her anyways— she had eyes that stared straight into my soul, I felt like. Ever since we hired her, I always felt like she had it out for me. She was just _itching_ for an excuse to snitch on me to my parents. Which wouldn't have normally been a problem, but she's also our damn babysitter. I was seventeen. My sister, Wisteria, was eleven. And we had a babysitter.

I reached and dragged the sheet-laden box out and uncovered it. The wood was unfinished, and I was pretty sure our house had some sort of wood-gnawing bug crawling through its crevices. The corners were smooth where they hadn't been months ago. I slowly grasped the metal clasp on the front and started to pull...

"Oak?" I heard my mother's voice from the level below. "Is that you?"

"Um, yeah! Yeah, just a second... I'm— I'm coming!" I shoved the box and the sheet back under my bed and pushed my door closed on the way out and down. I descended the stairs three at a time and jumped the last four.

My mother was in the kitchen, standing with her arms crossed and her eyebrows furrowed. It's funny how a simple facial expression could make a person look twenty years older. Her hair was still a pretty auburn shade, but when she looked this angry ("I'm just disappointed," she'd lie), I'd almost expect to see her whole head of hair turn grey when I blinked. I didn't inherit her red hair. Instead, I got a scalp full of dusty, messy brown hair from my father. Wisteria had my mother's hair, but we both got my father's green eyes.

"Oakley," she started. _Great. Lecture time._ "On my ride over here, I got a call from Staten High School. It was your principal, Mr. Stevens. He had a lot to say about you. Is there anything you want to tell me right now?"

"Um... aside from the detention on Monday, which you know about, nope."

"Alright, well that's a lie," she said, raising an eyebrow. I raised one back. "He told me that not only are you failing language arts, by thirteen points, might I add, but you cursed out your Language Arts teacher! Your _teacher,_ Oakley Bryce! What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Nothing, actually." I mirrored her stance by crossing my arms and leaning on one leg. "She took my pencils away and told me to write with my fingernails if I was going to continue to be "disruptive," mother. I actually wasn't being disruptive at all— freaking Elisa who sits next to me kept poking me in the side with her Sharpie and she knows how ticklish I am—"

"Alright, first of all, watch your language. I'm not raising a house full of heathens and future drunkards. And secondly, I'm also not about to be hearing excuses. Mrs. Barnes is your teacher. Your _teacher!"_

 _Oh my god, my_ teacher? I thought to myself and chuckled internally. Whenever I was thrust into a situation like this, I mentally sank back into a dreamworld of my own making. Right now, my mother was growing horns, pointy teeth, and repressing a raging fiery stomachache. "I don't care if she told you to jump off your desk and fly around the room," she continued. "You have NO excuse to curse anyone out. Especially someone who is three times your superior!"

"Okay," I floated back up to the surface and the horns faded away. "I won't do it again."

"Good. Mr. Stevens told me you'll be serving detention after school every day next week. Make sure you're there."

"Yes ma'am."

I excused myself from the room as soon as possible and made my way back upstairs. It was useless arguing with her. My time would already be wasted enough the next week in detention doing nothing but writing lines and kissing asses. I didn't understand my mother. There she was, bitching about me cursing a teacher out who _well_ deserved it and having a woman we barely knew babysit me and my sister, and then she's fine with me riding a motorcycle to school. As soon as I got back into my room, I shut the door, sat down on the carpet and pulled the box out. The months I had owned it hadn't made it any less harrowing... my struggle to keep my hands steady as I undid the clasp on the box only reminded me of the fact that I _shouldn't_ have had it in the first place. I raised the lid and took the book out of its resting spot and whispered the title to myself.

_"Secrets of the Darkest Art."_

_Horcruxes._

I remember vividly the day I had gotten it, which is sort of funny considering I don't often remember things too well.

I had quite literally stumbled across it heading out of a library one night. My cheek had busted across the parking lot's asphalt and I still had the wicked looking scar. The book hadn't looked like anything I had seen in the library... nothing I had seen _ever,_ really. It had opened it and read a few words across a few pages. In the inside of the front cover, a name was scrawled out in long, tight lettering: Tom Riddle. I wondered who he was. Maybe a Hogwarts student? I had decided to take it back home with me instead of asking the library if it was theirs. The book had been hidden under my bed in a box then, not to come out unless I was completely alone. My parents couldn't know about it, my sister couldn't know about it, Mrs. Orchid couldn't know about it... no one could.

It was an awful place to hide a book, really. I could never have any friends over because they'd always go snooping through my room and find it. Once, a friend from school had found it and read through a few pages while I was in the bathroom. I came out and found her sitting on my bed, horror written all over her face.

"O-Oak..." she said to me as I slowly approached her like an owner approaches a newly-turned rabid dog. "This book is... it's fake, right? You're not into that Paganism crap are you? Oh god, you are. Jesus, Oak, this book is telling you to murder someone..."

"Listen Lana," I said. "I just found that on the street. It's all horseshit to me, okay?"

"But... but why was is under your bed in a box then?"

"Because I thought it was interesting."

"You thought _this_ was interesting? Oak! What the fuck!"

I reached out and touched her shoulder, trying to calm her down. She flinched away and stood up off the bed, trading places with me but flinging the book down to the ground. I heard the spine crack and _I_ flinched.

"I don't believe you, Oak," she said, backing towards the door.

"Okay, Lana, fine," I gave up. "You don't have to believe me. Just... please... don't tell anybody? Please?"

She hesitated for a moment, bouncing on her heel, but then finally nodded and left.

That was the last time I had had anyone over. I didn't trust anyone. Especially not with my book in their hands. How could they understand? This was the only thing I had from the other world....

I'm sure my mother would be scandalised if he found out what I thought about the world I lived in. I knew there was another one. It was too obvious to me. A person, every now and then, walking down the street in a cloak, emitting a field of energy that rattled my bones when I passed them. The low humming of the wind that chilled my spine... the eerie silence after the rain stops. I knew my mother didn't believe in that "shit," but I did. I knew there was more. And this book was proof. It wasn't coincidence that it had found me... and it _had_ found me, not the other way around. 

And this was how I lived my life. With a mask on. I pretended all the time. I never told anyone about my position on magic... the lot of them would call me crazy. But I knew I wasn't crazy. In fact, I had heard whispers, ever so quiet and ever so rare, about a place. A school... a school of magic. I didn't know it's name, but I knew that it existed.

It's amazing what one hears when one isn't so hell-bent on everything being so boringly normal. So _human._ I didn't want to be human. I wanted to have magic... to feel it running through my veins. I needed to find it or... or unlock it somehow. 

Somehow... ugh. It was repulsive. I had read through the book so many times that I had just about had it memorised. I knew that me, a "Muggle," couldn't use magic. And therefore could not perform any of the spells listed in the book. Not that I would have used them anyway. They were morbid, as you would have gathered from my dear friend's reaction to reading just the first few pages.

But no matter. If I had one thing, it was determination. And I was not going to let my blood stand in the way.

— — —

"Mister Hawthorne... Mister Hawthorne!"

I was aggressively jerked out of my slumber by a sharp voice. Mrs. Barnes' face swam into view as I opened my eyes back up.

"This is the fourth time this week, Mister Hawthorne," she said angrily, and then pointed to the doorway. "Principal's office. Now."

I sighed and picked up my books, dumping them into my satchel that hung by my side as I left the room. I headed down the hallway and the door was slammed shut behind me. It wasn't my fault I couldn't sleep. Blame genetics. My father was the same way.

A moment later and I was seated in a chair across the Mr. Stevens' desk.

"Oakley," he said, sighing. I hated that he used my full first name. Only my parents did that... and him. "I have run out of options. Sleeping in class is not your worst infarction, but, given your repeated contempt for the rules that we have stationed here, it is only prudent to take action."

"Just assign me detention again."

"I considered it. However, this would be your seventh detention this month." Fourth time sleeping this week... seventh detention this month... it's amazing everyone here wasn't being held up by a puppet master. "I've decided to suspend you."

"What?" I said angrily.

"I'm not finished," he said, holding his hands up. "You are being temporarily removed from our school for the rest of the 2019 fall semester."

"Oh, my god," I gasped and stood up indignantly. "For sleeping?"

"Language!" Mr. Stevens shouted, standing up as well. "You have no respect for authority. No respect for our rules. You have such potential and you're throwing it all away!"

"What am I supposed to do with all my "potential" if all of the options after 12th grade suck anyway?"

"College? Are you delusional?"

"Excuse me?" I yelled. I could feel my face getting red and my hands starting to shake. How dare he call me that!

"You're throwing away your life!"

"Why the hell do you care, _Orlando?"_ I mocked, testing his limits and trying to get a rise out of him. He wasn't going to stand there and call me names and get away without a fight... or some form of retaliation.

"Don't you dare, Oakley Hawthorne!" 

"What are you? My dad?" I snapped, shaking more and more by the minute. I was shaking so hard that it felt like the ground underneath my feet was moving with me.

"Get out of my office!" he bellowed.

"Make me!"

_"Get out right now, or you're expelled!"_

The sound of glass breaking broke the both of us out of our standoff. A vase had fallen off Mr. Stevens' desk. I shouldn't have said fallen... it looked more like it had flown off the edge and slammed itself against the brick wall. Mr. Stevens must have hit it off while he was threatening to expel me. I must've not noticed for the blood rushing through my ears.

"Mister Hawthorne! You'll be paying for that vase! Handmade in Italy— it cost me a fortune!"

"I didn't touch your vase! You knocked it off!"

"I am so sick of this! GET OUT!"

I took that, finally, as my cue to leave. I snatched my bag off the floor and ripped his door open, slamming it behind me as I went. The vice principal looked scandalized as I walked past her desk. She was holding her glasses in her hand and staring at me, mouth parted slightly in shock. 

"May I have a dismissal note, please?" I asked her, stopping.

"Oh, uh, yes," she said quickly turning and grabbing a pad from the corner of her desk. She scribbled her signature on it and tore it off, handing it to me. "I trust you have a car? You can get home?"

"I can get home," I assured her. I turned on my heel, pushing the door to the parking lot open. I quickly spotted my bike and climbed on, strapping my helmet to my head and stuffing the note into my pocket. I revved it up and sped away from the school.

I bit the inside of my cheek as I rode back home. I wanted to punch something. I wanted to disappear. Away from here, from this world. I hated it here. I _hated_ it. I picked my speed up more and more. My anger didn't quiet down.

I sped up more and more until...

A sharp curve hit me out of nowhere and I was thrown through the air.

I fell on my back and blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter! How'd you like it? :D
> 
> — Milo


	2. Chapter 2

My skin was ice cold, but my eyes and head were on fire. I tried to focus my eyes but the room was too dark.

"Oh my god," I heard a very distant voice cry. "Oh my god, he's waking up!"

"What?"

"He's waking up again!"

And suddenly, every bone in my body was screaming. And I was screaming... and I wasn't. I didn't hear any sound coming out of my mouth as I wailed and started to thrash.

"Up the anesthesia!" 

"We've already given him too much—"

"I said up the damn anesthesia!" 

Everything started fading away again; my pain, my consciousness, everything.... 

— — —

"Oakley?"

"Oakley can you hear me?"

"Dad?"

"Oakley! Oak! Hey, buddy. Listen, listen, hey!" I felt his arms wrap around me, "Hey, don't flip out on me right now okay? You're okay. I'm here, yes?"

"Dad— Dad, I can't see."

"I know, buddy—"

"Dad," I was starting to hyperventilate. "Dad, I can't see! I can't see, I can't—"

"It's okay, it's okay..." he said. "Hey calm your nerves, buddy. It's gonna be alright."

But my nerves were anything but calm. The pain I had felt was coming back... duller, but still very much there. My back felt like there were rosebush thorns in between the vertebrae. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I couldn't... _do_ anything.

"What's wrong with my legs?" I gasped.

"Oak," he said, kindness in his voice. "When you got into the wreck, you fell onto your back and broke your backbone. You hit your face on a rock."

"I'm paralyzed?"

The only thing I got was a strangled sigh from the presence next to me, but that was all I needed.

"And... and I'm blind?"

I could feel him shaking his head. "Yes," he whispered. Then quieter, "yes."

My mother arrived later that day, but my dad was there for the majority of the week. The doctors came in multiple times a day to change out my needles and things and tell me how sorry they were. The doctor told me early on that I had no chance of recovering from the damage my spine had suffered.

Every night after I turned my back away from where I knew my parents were sleeping, I cried myself to sleep.

I was lucky I didn't have to stay in the hospital long... I was back home after three weeks.

But it was hell being at home. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t do anything. 

My dad was in my room the most. Wisteria only came into my room to crack jokes or make fun of me. She wasn’t being mean on purpose... if anything, she was trying to lighten the mood. It didn’t help.

Everything else sucked, but the one of the worst things was using the bathroom.

My dad had to help me into a wheelchair and wheel me into the bathroom, helping me up onto the toilet and making sure I grabbed the handrail next to me. Then, he’d wait outside the door until I yelled for him to come back. He’d help me off the toilet and back onto the wheelchair, make sure I got my hands washed and then wheel me back to my bed.

It was humiliating.

I wasted my days in bed listening to music and audiobooks. I was riddled with anxiety... it was only a matter of time until my parents found the book under my bed. I couldn’t move to get it out. They’d find out eventually.

I hadn’t seen Mrs. Orchid in a while. Well... “seen” was the wrong word.

The last time she had been here was shortly before the accident, and I wagered our house was due for another cleaning.

And that’s when my mother came into the room and announced they had fired her. She didn’t say “fired,” but she might’ve well had. She said she needed to start looking after the house instead of someone else. They had more time now since they were home looking after me. They had slimmed down their job hours for me. 

I was appreciative of my mother for doing it, but that didn’t mean I liked having her around all the time. She looked for any and every excuse to lecture me. I couldn’t stand it.

My father just brought me chips and told me about the crazy people he dealt with at work. He worked at a coffeeshop... you’d be surprised at how cranky middle-aged women get when they don’t get their coffee in under three minutes.

A month at home passed. The same thing every day. It was getting exhausting and I was losing hope.

I was hoping they’d never find the book.

But I knew that was too good to be true. I knew it was going to happen, and with each passing day, my anxiety grew stronger.  
— — —  


I knew I was dreaming, but it felt so real.

 _"Kill!"_ a voice kept saying. _"Kill!"_

"No! I don't want to! Leave me alone!"

I ran and ran and ran and ran... but I couldn't escape him. I didn't even know who "he" was. All I knew was his voice... his cold, high, merciless voice...

“Oak, wake up.”

I opened my eyes, expecting light. I let out a disappointed sigh. I needed to stop doing that.

“Hey, Dad. What’s going on?”

“Oakley, I need to talk to you about something.”

“About what?” I responded, confused and woozy. “Dad, what time is it?”

“It’s around twelve at night.”

“Shit, Dad. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Oak. I just need to discuss something with you.”

“This late.”

I could hear the hesitation in his voice. “I... I needed your mother to be asleep.”

“Dad..?”

“Oakley,” he said slowly. “I can get you your sight and legs back.”

“What?” I practically shouted. The hoarseness in my voice prevented it.

“Shh!”

“You can— how? Holy crap. H— really?”

“Yes, Oakley,” he said. “I’ve been talking with your mother about this. She doesn’t want me to do it.”

“She doesn’t want you to fix me?” I asked angrily.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that, buddy.”

“Complicated..?” I said, confused but excited. “Dad... how would you be able to fix me?”

“Son.”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to be able to see and walk again?”

“More than freakin-anything, Dad, but—”

“You can’t tell anyone, yes?”

“Well... okay, yes, but—”

“Oakley!”

“Yes?”

“I need your word.”

A solemnity hung in the air. I could feel it on my skin... it thickened the oxygen I was taking into my lungs.

“Yes, Dad,” I said meaningfully. “I promise.”

And suddenly, I heard an electricity snap and I felt a tingling in my legs. The sides of my vision started lightening and swirling. I tried using my leg muscles, but they were weak from exhaustion. I was able to barely kick my right leg... and a few seconds later, my left.

“Dad? Dad, it’s working!” 

“Shh, keep your voice down.”

“Sorry, I—” I was breathing very heavily. My vision’s recovery was quickening and my room was slowly coming into view. I was able to move both legs at the same time. Bend them. Turn them.

I blinked and opened my eyes. My eyesight was all but restored. It took a moment for them to focus... and they hurt from inactivity. 

I looked down at where I had heard my Dad’s voice from and focused. I saw his face for the first time in over a month, and I saw, in his hand, a stick.

No... it wasn’t a stick.

It was a wand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super short chapter. It's a lot of plot to pack in one place!
> 
> Thank you guys for reading! We're back home next chapter!
> 
> — Milo


	3. Chapter 3

"Dad, can you please tell me what's going on?"

I could tell how on edge he was. My mother didn't want whatever the hell just took place to have happened.

"Oakley," he said hesitantly, wringing his hands together. His face was red and he was perspiring. "I know what you think about our world. I know you think it isn't the only one. Your mother and I have tried our best to teach you differently, but you're smarter than the both of us, I think sometimes. The world we live in _isn't_ the only one. I know this... because I'm from it."

 _"You can do magic,"_ I said lowly. I felt like my stomach was full of helium. It _was_ a wand he was holding in his hand! He nodded, a small smile on his face when he realized I wasn't about to get angry with him at the moment. He raised the the piece of wood and flicked his wrist, producing a glowing flower from the tip of it. I felt like crying. My entire life I had lived in disbelief... not ever thinking for one moment that we were alone in the universe. _And here was my proof. Finally... something that told me I wasn't crazy._

The flower disappeared as soon as it had come. 

"Oak," he said, placing it down on the bedsheets and taking my hands with his. "I'm so sorry. I can't tell you how upset I am with myself for keeping this from you."

"Why did you? It was because of Mom, wasn't it?"

He didn't answer, but looked down instead, defeatedly. I had my answer. I decided not to push too hard about it right now. 

"Can you... tell me about it? The other world?"

"Oh, uh, yes," he said, his eyes lighting up as he turned to me. I could tell that, though he was still hesitant, he was excited to finally have someone to share a bit of magic with. "Well, I'm not sure where to start.

"The different places in the Wizarding World are amazing. And some quite terrifying... the Shrieking Shack, for instance. It used to be the most haunted place in Britain, but then it came out that the ghostly howls everyone heard on the full moon every month were just a werewolf turning."

"A werewolf?" I gasped. "There's werewolves?"

"Yes," he said. "Frightfully misunderstood creatures, in my opinion.

"The Shrieking Shack was in Hogsmeade. Hogsmeade was my favourite place on Earth. It had the most amazing shops and stores... it was always dusted with snow. The Three Broomsticks was in Hogsmeade. That place had the best butterbeer I've ever tasted."

"Butterbeer?" I asked him, confused.

"Yes... they could make it cold or hot; it was made with caramel and toffee... I'm not sure what all was in it. You'd have to ask Madam Rosmerta— she ran the shop. Honeydukes— a candy shop— and Zonko's— a joke shop— were also in Hogsmeade. After your third year at Hogwarts, you were allowed to visit the town with your friends."

"Hogwarts..." I mused. 

"Yes, the school of magic," my dad said. His eyes twinkled with fond recollections. "I spent seven years of schooling there. They taught me so much."

"You went to a school of magic?" I asked, eyes wide. My mouth hung open slightly and I found it difficult to keep my voice down.

"Yes I did," he said. "The teachers were amazing... most of them, at least. There was this one teacher everybody hated; Professor Ackerman. She taught History of Magic. She came in year five... after what felt like forever, Professor Binns decided to retire— he was a ghost. Nobody thought they'd ever say they wanted him back. Ackerman changed that, though."

"Werewolves and ghosts?" I marvelled. "What other kinds of creatures are there?"

"There are unicorns, phoenixes, dragons... what else? There are these things called thestrals, but I can't see them. You can only see them if you've seen someone die."

"That's sort of morbid," I said, raising an eyebrow.

"A lot of the things in the Wizarding World are. We had to take a Defense Against the Dark Arts class because of all the things we considered morbid. However, I felt a lot worse for the kids who had to take that class the years before I arrived at Hogwarts."

"Why?"

"Well, Oakley," he said, and I saw a flicker of fear cross his eyes. Fear that laid dormant, but was there nonetheless. "Back before I was born, there was this wizard. He wasn't a good wizard, but quite a terrible one. He was powerful. His name was Voldemort, but no one actually said it. At least not out loud. He was known, by the majority, as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Makes sense," I snorted. "Who the hell thinks _Voldemort_ is an attractive name?"

My dad chuckled, but there was no heart in it. "Yes, well... that's what he called himself. He used to have a different name, but I can't really remember it... I'm sure it'll come to me later right as I'm falling asleep. Anyway, Voldemort's followers didn't really call him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, they called him The Dark Lord."

"That's spooky," I said, without any irony at all. "What happened to Vol... Vold— Voldevie?"

"Volde _mort,"_ he laughed, then his face became serious again. "A boy named Harry Potter killed him."

"A boy?"

"Yes. He was in his seventh year at Hogwarts... or what would have been his seventh year if he hadn't dropped out to look for Horcruxes."

I felt the colour drain from my face when the word left his tongue. My heart started racing as though I was about to have an anxiety attack. 

"Oak, are you alright?" my dad said, concern suddenly dotting his features. "You've gone quite pallid." He put a hand to my cheek and checked my temperature, drawing it back when he decided I was fine.

"Yeah, I'm alright," I said, calming myself before I revealed anything that would hurt me.

"Okay," he said. "Well, it's late. You need to rest. Don't worry about tomorrow... your mother doesn't know about this yet. When she finds out... or we tell her (I haven't decided which one I like better; both are horrendous), we'll deal with it together."

I nodded, resting my head back on my pillow as my dad stood up and stepped towards the door.

"Goodnight, Oakley."

"Goodnight, Dad."

It took me a while to fall back asleep, but to my surprise, I awoke to a clear head. I hadn't dreamt.

My sister came into my room early the next morning. She was wearing a frown.

"Oak, Mom says to wake up."

And speaking of the Devil, our mom walked in before she had said the last word.

"Wisteria, go," she said, "I've decided I don't trust you enough to wake him up." Wisteria pouted and left the room. 

My eyes rested on my mom. Her red hair was pulled up in a tight ponytail that sat awkwardly at the back of her head. Her eyes looked a bit more sunken than I had last observed. 

"Good morning, Oak," she said to alert me of her presence. My eyes were already opened, but she didn't know I could see. "Wake up, please. I'll be bringing the wheelchair up in a few minutes to get you downstairs."

"Mom?" I said, breathlessly as she turned away. 

"Yes?" she sounded annoyed. But then again, she always sounded that way. I opened my mouth to try and say something, but words failed to come to me. I wasn't even sure of what I was going to say when I _had_ opened my mouth. "Yes?" she said again, harsher. Then, her eyes narrowed and she took a few quick, short steps towards me, leaning in to look at my eyes. Then, _her_ eyes widened and she took a sharp breath in.

"Oakley... Oakley, can you see me?" 

I swallowed, looked down, then back up at her. I nodded.

Her face turned extremely red and her eyes seemed to glow red. She skipped back and quickly left the room. A moment later, I heard a deafening shattering noise from downstairs.

I threw off the covers and leaped out of bed, but fell to the floor as soon as my feet made contact with the ground. I gasped in pain, clutching my knee where I had hit it and mentally slapping myself. I hadn't walked in a month. I also hadn't seen in a month. My legs weren't immediately going to be strong like they were before, and my eye-coordination would be off, too. 

I slowly got back on my feet and stood upright. All of the blood rushed to my head and I tipped, bending to the side and gripping the bed so I wouldn't fall again. Once my head had stopped spinning, I made my way over to the door  
and descended the stairs. I quickly found the source of the noise, as I had begun to step over a sea of glass shards that littered the floor. I looked over at the small table that sat next to the bottom of the stairway and saw that the stained flowerpot was gone. It was a good thing my sister had killed off the lilies she had growing last week or I would've been stepping over dirt and flower petals, too.

"Wisteria," I said to her, "Mom and Dad aren't going to buy you any more plants if you keep killing them."

"Yeah they will," she said. "Mom probably doesn't even notice I'm growing flowers and Dad is too nice _not_ to let me try again."

"Yeah, you're right."

I stepped lightly, trying not to cut the soles of my feet as I made my way across the foyer and into Dad's office where all of the tension was wafting from.

My mom had looked the angriest I had ever seen her; she had my dad backed up against the wall as she screamed at him. She stopped yelling once she saw me. They both turned their heads and looked me in the eyes, loosening their stances and taking much-needed deep breaths.

"Oakley," my mom said, "go find your sister."

"I'm not leaving just so that you can start yelling at him again. Sound carries."

"Look at him!" my dad said desperately, turning to my mom. "He's standing! You're standing, Oak, my god. Don't tell me you would've rather him stay a vegetable for the rest of his life! Don't tell me you would've wanted him to stay blind!"

"He would've been our son either way, Jonathan!"

"Yes, he would have! He would have been just as much my son even if he had just been a head in a jar! But I had the ability to give him back his life. I'm sorry I didn't do it sooner!"

"You went behind my back! You betrayed my trust and the trust of the headmaster!"

"Woah," I said, stepping further into the conversation. "Firstly, I'm right here. Stop referring to me in this person. And Secondly, the headmaster? Who? Of Hogwarts? Does she know about me?"

I realised as soon as I had, I should not have said that. My mom turned on my dad and slapped him as hard as she could. I gasped and clapped my hands to my mouth as his face jerked to the left.

"How much did you tell him?" she said, her voice low and threatening.

"Not a lot," my dad said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"Jonathan," she said back, trying to lower her voice so that I wouldn't hear. "I have to tell the Minister."

"Tell the Minister what?" I asked indignantly.

"Oakley!" she yells and turns, "leave the room!"

"No!" I yell back. "I want to know what's going on! I've been kept in the dark all my life because of you! I want to know why!"

"I said leave the room."

"I can't believe you," I scoffed. I walked away, freely stomping over bits of glass. I went to go find Wisteria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first mention of Harry Potter! BUM BUM BUUUUM. Though this is the first mention, it will definitely not be the last. Maybe Hermione, Ron, and maybe even Draco's names will make it into script soon!
> 
> And, fun fact: Voldemort's name means "flight of death" in French! I thought it would be a funny little Easter egg if, when Oak was trying to pronounce Voldemort's name, he said "Vol de vie," which translates to "theft of life" in French, which was what Voldemort had done when he created the Horcruxes!
> 
> I'm so sorry it took so long for the upload! A lot of things have been going on in my life lately and I haven't had much motivation to write. My goal is to add a new chapter every week (if not more often), but sometimes that just doesn't work out. Thank you for sticking with the story— I hope you continue to enjoy it!
> 
> — Milo


	4. Chapter 4

Wisteria was sitting at the kitchen table, painting with stale watercolours on a piece of printer paper. The page curled up at the ends and wrinkled because it was only meant for the printer, but she seemed very proud of her rainbow and rainclouds nonetheless. 

"Hi," I said to her. She looked up at me, realised that I was standing and seeing, and went back to her painting. I chuckled to myself, eyeing the wet paper interestedly. Another piercing glass-shattering sound took my grin away.

"Does this not bother you?" I asked incredulously, gesturing back towards the room in which both of our parents were still fighting. Wisteria looked quite unbothered.

"No," she said. "It doesn't have to do with me, so I don't care."

"Wow, okay," I said, pinching my eyebrows. "I mean, that does make sense."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"Yeah," I agreed, and sat down at the table with her. I leaned on my elbows and sighed. I pulled my phone and earbuds out of my pocket and pushed them into my ears. I turned on a playlist and laid my head down onto the table, dipping into unconsciousness fairly quickly.

— — —

I dreamed about my book upstairs... about its pages I had poured myself over so for many nights. Chapter 7: How to Make a Horcrux.

Step One: kill someone.

Again, my mind flitted back to the name in the front of the book. _Tom Riddle..._ he must've been a bad dude. Or maybe he was just a stupid teenager like I was who just happened upon Secrets of the Darkest Art. 

My dream morphed into something much odder. I was standing over a shadow in the midst of shadows, and the shadow slowly started to take shape. 

A faceless figure was sat on the floor, propped up on their palms. Their face was upturned and I supposed they were looking at me, though I couldn't know for sure since I couldn't see their eyes.

A voice came to me suddenly and echoed around the room when a word was muttered: "Kill!"

I had heard this voice before. I had dreamt it before. This time, though, it was as if I was dreaming everything for the first time. 

"What?" I said, confused.

"Kill!"

I looked down in my hand, and I was holding a wand. I raised it, pointing it at the figure.

"Kill!"

"But... I don't want to. It's wrong."

"Kill!"

I took a sharp breath in as the room was filled with a bright green light.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

I looked back down at the figure. It was slumped over on the ground and it had stopped breathing. A cold hand landed softly on my shoulder.

"Wonderful, wonderful," a quiet, high-pitched voice said. 

"Did... did I do that?"

"Of course you did," the voice said. "And you did spectacularly."

"But I didn't mean to..."

"You can't do _that_ without meaning to, Oakley."

"But I... I..."

"I'm so proud of you."

A shrill laugh broke the scene and split the ambience with green flames. I started to scream as I and everything else caught fire, but my voice was drowned out by the violent crackling of the flames. I was sucked upwards and flew out of the room. My head jerked back and I was ripped apart at the seams, bursting into blinding white light.

— — —

I awoke to an arm shaking me awake. I looked up and saw my parents. Their faces were both expressionless and I had no idea what to expect.

"We've asked Mrs. Orchid to come and watch you and Wisteria for a few hours," my mom said.

I sniffed and scrunched up my nose, sitting up in my chair. "I thought you fired her."

"We did," my dad said. "We hired her back. Your mom and I need to go out and talk about things."

I sighed. I was too tired to argue, so I laid my head back down and watched as they left, hands each in their pockets, and left through the front door.

Mrs. Orchid arrived around 30 minutes later. She nodded at me as she passed and went upstairs to find Wisteria who was probably going to force her to sit through a high-energy ramble about middle school. Being twelve did come with its demons.

I finally got up from the table and walked over to the refrigerator, grabbing a bottled water from inside its doors. The water stung my teeth and the feeling lingered for a moment longer than it should've. Something was off. I could feel it.

I wasn't sure what the something was... I just knew that it existed. I put the bottled water down and took a deep breath in. The end of my inhale caught a bit, startling only slightly the bones below my jaw. It felt like a tiny shock of static exiting through the beat of my pulse... _magic._

I picked the water up again and brought it to my lips, but it violently burst and spilled all over my face and clothes before I could take another sip.

"What the..." I gasped in shock as iceberg-cold water trickled down my arms. I held the remains in my hand and looked up.

Mrs. Orchid was standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a wand gripped tight in her hand.

"I'm sorry, Oakley," she said, holding the wooden weapon steady. She wore a look of determination on her old face, and I detected no remorse.

"Mrs. Orchid? You're a witch?"

"I'm sorry, dear," she said again, "but I've been given orders to eliminate you."

"What?" I said, placing the plastic down on the countertop next to me. "Eliminate... by— by who?"

"The Ministry, dear," she answered. "I was given special orders to "eliminate an Oakley Bryce Hawthorne using any means necessary.""

"The Ministry? What's the Ministry?"

"Dear, oh dear... you really don't know anything, do you? The Ministry of Magic, darling. The Wizarding government in the United Kingdom."

"And the government has asked you to kill me?"

"Eliminate sounds nicer, but since you have always insisted on being difficult..."

"Why me?" I raised my voice, gripping the edge of the granite with fear. My knuckles turned white and my fight-or-flight activated.

"Because," Mrs. Orchid explained, "you pose a threat."

She shot another blast of energy out of her wand and I dodged it. It hit the cabinets behind me and they burst into angry flames.

"Holy—"

I ran past her and flew up the stairs four at a time. I saw Wisteria through the doors of my parents room sitting on their bed and quickly ran to her, slamming and locking the doors behind me.

"Wisteria, Mrs. Orchid's gone crazy and she's trying to kill me and we have to get outta here—"

"Who's Wisteria?" she asked, eyes wide and innocent.

"Uh... is this some kind of joke? Come on, Wisteria, we need to go right now!"

"I'm not joking," she said and looked me straight in the face. Her eyes were dead and empty and I sat on the bed next to her, shaking her shoulders. 

"Wake up, Wisteria! What's wrong with you? We're in danger! _Danger!_ Come on!"

"Who's Mrs. Orchid?"

"Our babysitter..."

Then the sickening reality of the situation hit me. Mrs. Orchid must've used some sort of memory spell and erased Wisteria's memory. Nothing else made sense. I didn't even know it was possible to erase someone's memory using magic... and now I was getting to see it up close.

I unlocked and barely cracked the door, peeping out into the hallway. Mrs. Orchid was still making her way up the stairs. I didn't understand how someone so old and slow could vacuum all of the carpets inner house in an hour. The maths didn't add up. Then again, I supposed, nothing had added up about anything lately.

"Okay," I said, grabbing Wisteria off the bed and taking her to the door. "Run to that room at the end of the hall and lock your door and _stay there,_ got it?"

"Okay." It was as if she was on autopilot. She ran to her room and swiveled on her heel, closing the door in an almost mechanical way.

I closed my eyes in relief. I didn't think Mrs. Orchid would bother Wisteria any more. She wasn't a "threat." I opened my eyes and screamed in terror as Mrs. Orchid had climbed all the stairs and was a foot away from the door. I slammed it shut and locked it, backing away and stumbling over my father's nightstand.

It clattered and broke, drawers splintering into a million different pieces. There, at the bottom of one of the now shattered masses of drawer, lay my father's wand.

My heart skipped a beat and I snatched it up.

What good would it do me? I couldn't do magic like he could....

Or... maybe I could. Magic usually ran in the family, so my chances were much higher, right? I raised the wand steadily and flicked it. Nothing happened and I huffed. I flicked it again and again, nothing happened.

The door flew loudly off its hinges and landed across the room; Mrs. Orchid stood behind it, her wand giving off a faint smoke. Instinctually, I snapped the wand in her direction and it sent a jet of energy that hit her in the chest and knocked her back a bit.

I wheezed in shock and... a bit of excitement. 

_I could do magic!_

This fact seemed to hit Mrs. Orchid just as much as it did me, but in a different way. She hardened her expression and fired a stream of spells at me, most of which I dodged. The last one, however, hit my shoulder and my pullover caught fire. I tore the fabric from my shoulders and threw it away quickly. I looked over right as the flames completely engulfed it.

Was she trying to kill me or torture me? Both, I decided as I flicked my wand at her again. It gave less of a beating than it had before.

 _Shit, shit, shit!_ I thought. _Do I even know any spells?_

As I dove to miss another spell, a daunting answer to my question came into the light. I had read about it in Secrets of the Darkest Art... the book that was still stashed under my bed. 

It made me sick that there was even a glimmer of debate in my conscience about it.

 _No,_ I told myself. _Killing was wrong._

Not half a second later, Mrs. Orchid was standing above me with a fire in her eyes. She pointed her wand at me and opened her mouth to mutter a spell I knew would end my life. In that moment, my fight or flight went into overdrive, and my instincts chose fight.

I didn't have control over my own movements or words anymore. Everything was moving in excruciating slow-motion as I raised my wand and uttered two words:

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Determined VoiceOver: "You came here for Harry Potter and his friends, darn it!"
> 
> I PROMISE we'll be getting to Hogwarts soon. There are still a few things I need to sort out first in order to get Oak to Hogwarts, but I promise he'll be there in the very, very near future! I'll bet you're thanking your lucky stars I don't write long chapters right now, because if I did, "Hogwarts isn't that far away" would look more like 129840945801239 words instead of just a few thousand.  
> — Milo


	5. Chapter 5

"Oh..."

Words had escaped me entirely. What had I just done? The wand fell from my fingertips and I pulled myself forward so that I was on my hands and knees. Shaking and gasping for air, I crawled over to Mrs. Orchid and reached out slowly, feeling for her wrist. I pressed a shaky finger to the pulse point and let out a poorly-contained cry when I did not get a beat back.

Mrs. Orchid was dead. And I... I had killed her.

I got quickly to my feet, filling my head with blood and straightening myself out before I threw up. I couldn't tear my gaze from the mass of purple cashmere on my parent's carpet.

Tears formed at the corners of my eyes and rivers carved valleys into my cheeks.

"Well done."

I whipped my head around, looking for the source of sound.

"Yes, yes yes," the voice continued. "You've done beautifully."

_What?_

"Who— who are you?" I stumbled over my words, terrified.

"Who are you?" I repeated sternly, digging my heels into the ground. I hoped I sounded braver than I felt, because I wanted nothing more than to sink into the drywall and never come back out again.

"It does not matter who I am, Oakley, but who you have the potential to become."

"Me?"

"Oh, yes..." the voice said. A shrill laugh echoed around the room, bouncing off all of the corners. 

_Wait a minute... I recognised that laugh._

"You..." I said. "You were in my dream. You were the one telling me to kill that person!"

I didn't get an answer save for the reverberating howl that circulated around the room. 

"I want to see you! I want to know your name!"

"You already know my name..." he answered. "You just do not know that I am the one who belongs to it."

"I... but..."

"I highly advise you do something about the woman laying on the ground. It'd be best to work out a plan before your charming family comes back to disaster."

"But... what do I do?"

_"Protect yourself."_

A howling wind blew about the room and I was alone again. Utterly and completely alone.

 _Protect myself..._ I did know exactly what I had to do. I just didn't know if I could. The book upstairs gave instructions on how to make the thing called a Horcrux— it would protect me from people like Mrs. Orchid. My stomach churned and my chest tightened as I went back and forth with myself in my head. Nothing made sense to me. Why was the Ministry of Magic trying to kill me? What kind of threat could an untrained, uninformed wizard be? What was the voice talking about when it told me of my potential?

I had to do it. I had to protect myself. There were too many dangers... too many ways to die. And I was going to die if I didn't do something. Even if the thing I had to do made me _want_ to die.

I was still holding my father's wand in my hand. 

— — —

In the end, I wasn't really sure how exactly I was able to do it. I had no idea _how_ exactly magic worked... all I had were the instructions telling me what to do. It had felt like I had been emptied out of my body and replaced with something a lot more sinister. I was just a hull of a person looking at its reflection.

I didn't look very different, but I looked different enough that I had noticed whilst running into the bathroom to throw up. After I had given up all of the food in my stomach, I had turned to the mirror. My reflection stared back at me through eyes I did not recognise.

They were a grey colour now... not all all like the bright green they had been before. My hair had grown lighter and turned from brown to a dirty, dusty tan colour, and my skin had paled. I looked sickly.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve and left the bathroom, walking weakly to the banister and climbing back down the stairs. I didn't need to worry about anyone finding Mrs. Orchid— she had disappeared as soon as the spell had been set in place. I clutched the book I held in my hands to my chest; I had snagged it out of my room when I had made up my mind about the spell. I looked down at the old, thinning binding and spotted the crack along the spine where it had been thrown to the floor so long ago by my schoolmate. I started to feel sick again, but I forced myself to keep the acid trying to climb my esophagus down. 

I reached the bottom of the stairs and sat shakily on the living room couch. Wisteria must have still been in her room, because I saw no sign of her. The book seemed to have a heart that beat through its pages against mine. It had a sort of life that it hadn't before and gave off a dark energy that made my fingers that were wrapped around it very cold.

I heard the door unlock in the foyer behind me. I flinched.

Footsteps alerted me of my parents' presence. The door closed and the footsteps grew closer. They were quick and light‚ they seemed to be frantic. 

"Oakley?" I heard a shaky voice say. It was my mother. She rounded the side of the couch and stopped in front of me. "I came straight home," she said. "I... I came home."

My father stood next to her, his expression blank like Wisteria's had been.

"Dad?"

"Honey," my mother said, tears starting to brim in her eyes. "They wiped his memory."

"What?" I laid the book down beside me. I didn't care that she could see it now. She'd figure out what had happened soon enough.

"The Ministry wiped his memory. And they said they were going to wipe Wisteria's."

"Oh..."

"And," she struggled to keep in a sob. I could hear it on the edge of her voice. "And they told me they were going to have to send someone... to kill you."

I didn't say anything. I was trying to piece everything together in my soup-pot of a mind. Everything was groggy and fogged. Words seemed to leave her mouth on a river of molasses. 

"Mrs. Orchid."

She nodded. 

There was that cry I had been waiting for. It escaped her lungs horrendously— like the paper of a phone book ripping. She was having trouble standing, but her legs seemed glued to the spot like she was paralysed. 

"We were both put under a curse," she continued. "To control us. That's why we left the house in the first. Mrs. Orchid is an agent of the Ministry. She put us under and... she told me she was going to kill you. Right after she wiped your father's memory."

"Why didn't you come back? If you knew what was going to happen?"

Her face twisted and tears poured down her face. "Because... because she told me that I had to stay if I wanted to keep _my_ memory."

"So... you stayed where you were after the wiped Dad's memory... you knew they were going to wipe Wisteria's... and you knew they planned to kill me. But you stayed anyway."

She bowed her head in shame and cried freely.

"Even though you knew I was in danger."

My heart sank. My mother... gave me up. She gave Wisteria up... to protect herself.

"I killed her."

She looked up, ghostly eyes staring straight into mine. "What?"

"Mrs. Orchid. She tried to kill me and... and I killed her."

"You... killed her?"

"Why else did you think I wasn't dead walking in?"

"I... I don't know. I figured they had just— just changed their minds." Her eyes fell from mine and her face turned a lighter shade than it had been before. "Oh..." she said, clutching her chest. "Oh."

"I had to."

"How? How did you kill her?"

"I..." I hesitated. I had used Dad's wand. I had used his wand to end her life. "With magic."

"Oakley," she started. However, before my name completely left her lips, my senses seemed to come back tenfold. I felt every emotion harsher than I had before.

"But it was your fault. You gave me up," I growled, anger bubbling inside my previously hollow chest. "You gave both me and Wisteria up."

"I'm so, so sorry, Oakley, I am!"

"No!" I said, standing up suddenly. "You— you don't get to be sorry! You're the reason I almost died! You're the reason... you're the reason I had to kill her." I whimpered out the last statement. It was an unbearably ugly thing— knowing that you had been the reason a human being had taken their last breath. A new wave of nausea passed over me. My mother seemed to not know how to respond. Uncharacteristically, she had no good comebacks. She just said, "I'm sorry." She grasped my father's hand. He didn't move.

 _"How could you?"_ I said.

"I..."

The wand was still in my pocket. Without realizing what I was doing, I took it out and pointed it at her. She shrieked and stepped back. 

"Oakley! What are you doing?"

"Get to the Ministry and fix Wisteria. Fix Dad. Right now."

"I— I can't."

"You can."

"It— it can't be reversed. The spell can't be reversed."

The horror of the situation started to sink in. I was never going to be able to be a part of a family again. My sister was gone. My father was gone. All that as left of them were shells. Like cracked eggs.

 _I couldn't stay here with her. I couldn't._

I lowered my wand and stuffed it back into my pocket and grabbed my book. I left the living room, leaving my mother shaking, rooted to the spot. Striding over to the coat rack, I grabbed my jacket and put it on, picking up my boots in addition. My school backpack was sitting on the ground under the coat rack. I knelt down and took the binder full of maths out and put it on one of the bottom steps. I zipped my book of magic inside the backpack, taking the binder's place. I took my wand from my back pocket and tucked it into the inside pocket of the coat. I looked back over at my mother. 

"You've ripped everything away from me that I have ever valued. I feel less than human now, because of you. I'm not a person anymore."

She didn't say anything. I looked at my father, who's eyes were focused on me.

"I'm so sorry, Dad," I said. "Tell Wisteria I'm sorry, too."

I opened the front door and left. My mother didn't even attempt to stop me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was one of the darker ones. Sorry! This is a dark story, but I promise we'll get some really good Harry Potter-era scenes soon!
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> — Milo


	6. Chapter 6

I walked out into the night and chilly London air filled my lungs. I had no idea where I was going. Once I got to the end of the neighborhood, I looked around and saw that no direction held any more promise than the others, so I turned left. I already missed my bike, but I couldn't take it with me— gas costed money... money I didn't have. Mowing lawns was enough to keep gas in it while I was living at home, but driving through the city without an ending location? No way. I wasn't sure if walking was a better idea, but it was the idea I chose.

I trudged for what seemed like an eternity. The night was never ending. I knew I must have been in the middle of nowhere because of how bright the stars were. There was no light pollution anywhere to dim them. The stars and the moon were the only things lighting the sidewalk I trudged along. I eyed my shoes, sinking deep into thought.

I had made in irreversibly rash decision. My home that I had lived at for eighteen years was not my home anymore. But even if I turned back now... it still wouldn't have been much of a home. The only person left with any grip on reality was my mother who wasn't worth going back for. And I hated it. I hated all of it.

My dad was dead. So was my sister. Well, their minds were, anyway. All they were now were cardboard cutouts with lungs and heartbeats.

I decided that now wasn't the time to lose my mind. I was walking towards... I didn't know. Alone. I needed to keep my head screwed on right. I gripped the straps of my backpack firmer, pulling the bag closer to my body. I could feel the book through the fabric. It's almost like it was oscillating— brewing and turning over in a stew of energy. It wasn't a nice energy it gave off, either. It made me feel angry. But then again, I couldn't blame all of my anger on whatever the book was giving off. I had no idea the type of power I had given it, but whatever it was couldn't be causing every bad feeling in my chest.

I walked on, my rhythmic footsteps putting me into a daze. I felt like a machine. I had cleared my mind completely and was running purely on the hypnotic properties of repetition. I hugged the hem of my jacket, trying to ward off the chill that hung in the air. Then, something jerked me out of my stupor.

A loud horn cut through the night. I turned quickly around to spot a tall purple bus hurdling across the road at speeds I knew to be far over the speed limit. It flew up the asphalt and readied to pass me, but to my surprise, it screeched to an almighty halt right as it reached my spot.

I stood my ground, fairly uncertain of what to do with myself.

Was I about to be kidnapped or something? I thought to myself. No... who'd kidnap someone in a bus the size of London? Was it just a coincidence it stopped right next to where I was walking? Yeah, it had to be. Plus... I knew the universe didn't stop for me, but wouldn't it be sort of cruel to be kidnapped on top of everything else that had just totaled up to being the worst night of my life?

Whatever the reason, I was about to find out, as the bus had opened its side doors and a scraggly man stepped out and gripped the loading bar and leaned against it. He looked to be about in his forties and judging by the state of his clothes, I wagered he hadn't had a shower in quite a few weeks. He adjusted his worn purple cap that matched his worn purple conductor's outfit that looked two sizes too small for him, then cleared his throat.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go," he said. "My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this evening."

"Conductor?"

"Well, that's what I just said, innit?"

"Uh..."

I didn't have time to finish that thought because he reached forward and thrust a piece of paper into my hands. I opened it (he had wrinkled it up) and squinted, trying my best to read the print on the slip. It was more difficult than one would imagine, however, because the paper looked like it had been around since before the dinosaurs. The text was very faded and old, but I was barely able to make out what it said.

"One ticket for an Oakley Hawthorne on the night of October 17, 2019."

"That is your name, innit?"

"Uh, well, yes! It is, but... I don't understand."

"What don't you understand? This 'ere is your ticket to this 'ere bus." He gestured to the big purple vehicle he stood on. "It'll take you where you need to go. You're needing some form of transportation right now, aren't ya?"

"Yes, but..." I decided it was best not to argue with Stan. I brought up a different issue. "I haven't any money."

"No need for money," he said, then pointed towards the slip in my hand. "That ticket there means someone's already paid for ya."

"Someone's already paid for me?"

Stan sighed a huge sigh and wore a look of exasperation. "Well, that's what I just said, innit?" he huffed and threw his hands up in the air.

I folded the ticket and stuck it in my pocket, giving Stan a smile.

"Thank you for the ride, Stan," I nodded, trying to evade any further conversation. I looked up at the story-tall bus and started to feel a bit woozy. How did this thing not fall over around the corners? Stan offered his hand and I took it, being hoisted up onto the small platform that was further off the ground than I had initially expected. I climbed into the bus and walked into the main compartment.

It was the oddest thing I had ever seen. Instead of seats, there were multiple ornate curtained beds in the middle of the space. There was a small bench bolted to the ground to the left, and I took it instead of one of the mattresses.

"You're lucky they're bolted down," Stan said, nodding to the beds. "New rule I was given a few years back— it was a lot more fun before we had to bolt everything down."

"I bet," I said, cringing internally. Oh, god... I was totally going to die on this thing.

The Knight Bus started up and I thanked my lucky starts that I was seated. We lurched forward and shot off at ungodly speeds. I held onto the handrail next to my seat. The bus turned corners with efficiency and swept across roadways with ease— things seemed to jump out of its way instead of the other way around.

"Hey, Stan," I piped up after a few more minutes of violent maneuvering. "Where is this thing taking me?"

"The Leaky Cauldron," he answered. "That's in London." He straightened up and visibly shook his shoulders as a chill ran up his spine. "Ooh... Déjà Vu."

"What's the Leaky Cauldron?"

"A quaint little restaurant," he answered, snatching a newspaper out of a bin that was sliding around on the floor. "And it's an inn."

Wonderful. A place to stay.

We drove on at top speed for a few more minutes, and finally, after the effects of motion sickness started to set in, we reached our destination.

"'Ere we are," Stan said, "the Leaky Cauldron. Ticket please," he said and held out his hand. I stood, swaying on my feet for a second and dug the scrap out of my pocket, handing it to him. He unfolded it and punched a hole through one side. "Next time you're travellin' with us you'll have to pay for your own ticket." He gave a lopsided smile full of yellowed teeth, but it was awkwardly charming nonetheless.

"Thanks Stan," I said, taking my ticket back and returning it back to its place in my pocket. The doors to the bus swung open and I grasped the handrail as I hopped off the loading platform and onto a cobblestone-lined street. I gave him a nod as the bus revved up again and took off around the corner of the Leaky Cauldron.

The restaurant was quaint. An oxidized hanging sign above the old wooden door swayed creakily in the draft that was coming down the alley. I reached out and touched the cool metal of the door handle and like extending your arm into a waterfall, I felt magic leave the surface of the building and into my outstretched fingers. The energy climbed through my arm and around my shoulder, dipping behind collarbone and cascaded down my backbone. I felt it leave through my foot which I had planted firmly on the ground, only to return again and cycle back though my anatomy all over again.

Despite the circumstances, I couldn't keep a grin off my face. I was finally someplace I felt like I belonged. I pulled the door open and walked into the building.

The first thing I noticed about the Leaky Cauldron was all of the different smells wafting around the inside. My nose was immediately met with the cosy scents of toffee, beef broth, and crackling candlewick. An odd combination, do doubt— but the way they heated my ribs and warmed my cheeks made me feel unusually welcomed.

The woman at the counter smiled at me as the door closed behind me. She had long blonde hair and 

"Hello, love!" she said. "Welcome in. What can I get started for you this foggy evening?"

"Uh..."

In truth, I wasn't quite sure what I was doing here. The Knight Bus had dropped me off here, so I had gone in. I had no money and no way to get around... other than by foot.

"Any chance you can tell me where I am?"

"We're currently at Number One, Diagon Alley in the oldest pub in London! Charing Cross Road. Every wizard who knows much about anything knows this pub's been around longer than... well, just about anything else. Are you lost, dear?"

"A bit," I admitted, walking around a table to the counter.

"Do you need a place to stay?" the woman asked sweetly. "We have rooms here in addition to butterbeer."

"I do, actually... but I don't have any money." My face went red and I scratched at the back of my neck. What was I supposed to do without any money?

"I've got him," I heard a voice behind me. A young man walked past me and put a few golden coins down on the counter. I stared incredulously at the exchange of money, at a momentary loss for words. Once the woman had taken the coins, she reached below the bar and brought up an old skeleton key and handed it to me. I reached up slowly and took it.

"That's one friend you got there," she said to me.

"Yeah," I said and turned, facing the stranger. "Thank you so much."

"Sure," he said, fully facing me now. He looked to be about 18, 19... very close to my age. He was quite a handsome fellow— he had black, wavy hair that sat very controlled atop his head, dark brown eyes that glinted under long eyelashes, and the slim physique of an athlete. However, I found it very difficult to imagine him on any field. He looked more like the indoors bookworm type.

"I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't stepped up," I said.

"Well, aren't you glad I did?" he said, grinning widely. "Here, let's sit down for a few minutes. Two butterbeers, please," he said, turning to the woman.

"You need anything at all dear," she said, turning to me, "you just call for me or my husband— my name's Hannah. I think Neville is around here somewhere..." She began turning her head to look for him as the young man led me over to a table.

"I can't thank you enough," I said, reiterating what I had said a few minutes prior.

"You're welcome," he said.

"What's your name?" I asked him.

He seemed to consider this for a moment, as if his name had escaped him, but perked back up and said, "Tom."

"It's nice to meet you Tom," I said. "I'm Oak."

His eyes brightened when he heard my name and for a split second, something scarlet reflected off the surface.

We talked for a while about a bit of everything— nothing, mostly. Just smalltalk. I didn't bring up the events of the night and he didn't ask why I was here with no money. Both good, I guessed.

Sleep was beginning to weigh down on my eyes and he noted that I looked tired. After saying our goodnights, he left and I climbed the staircase that led to the rooms. I brought my key up and saw that it said Room 7. Finding it quickly, I opened the door and fell down onto the bed mattress.

 _What a nice fellow,_ I thought to myself as I fell asleep. _Tom..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder who this Tom fellow could be...
> 
> Could He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named really be back?
> 
> Also, I will be starting to post longer chapters (between 2,000 and 3,000 words) instead of the shorter chapters I was posting before. I had to get the beginning out of the way first :p
> 
> — Milo


	7. Chapter 7

I awoke to the smell of pastries and coffee wafting upwards through the floorboards. It was quite a nice smell to awaken to compared to the usual burnt toast and overdone oatmeal I usually smelt at home... Wisteria often overcooked things when our mother wasn't around to watch over the process. 

I sat up and stretched, grabbing my bag from the floor next to my bed. I plopped it down on the mattress and unzipped the side pocket, taking out the wand I had switched over from my jacket pocket when I had taken it off. I hadn't taken my phone with me— there was no use for it. I had no one to contact. And I didn't want there to be any way for my mother to track me. Therefore, I only took the book and the wand.

I rolled the wooden stick around in my palm, familiarizing myself with it. The first spell I had ever performed was a very dark one... and one that I shouldn't have been able to do. I wasn't going to lie to myself— I was severely behind on everything. I didn't even know how to turn the lights on with the thing. It didn't make sense that I was able to make a Horcrux with the level of experience I had. Maybe it was the fact that I knew the spell by heart after reading the book over and over again. That must have been it... I didn't think any wizard my age had ever made a Horcrux. More than make me proud to have accomplished such a feat... it made me nauseous. I didn't like the feeling the book gave me as I glared at it sitting within the folds of my backpack. It gave me a very ugly feeling.

It _was_ worth it, though. It had to have been. I was in danger. Grave danger. The Ministry of Magic or whatever it was called was trying to kill me. And for what? I still had no idea why I "posed a threat" as Mrs. Orchid had told me I had. What kind of threat could I possible pose? I didn't know anything... except for this one spell. But I doubt I'd ever be using it again. I never wanted to go through that ever again. I was in utter denial— not that I had killed Mrs. Orchid, but that her death could really impact my mental state. I knew I was in denial and I decided it'd be best to stay that way. At least until I was in a good enough place to deal with it all.

I flicked the wand a little, emitting a bit of a spark at the end. I flicked it again, harder, and it emitted a few more sparks. I looked around for something to point it at and decided on the old rocking chair that sat across the room. I aimed at the chair and flicked my wand once more. The chair momentarily lifted off the ground and then fell right back to its place.

"Hmm..." I hummed to myself and put the wand back in my backpack, zipping it up and slinging it over my shoulders. I stood up, tucking the covers back into their place (even though I knew they would have to wash them), and made my way to the door. I was only here for one night... I'd have to find somewhere else to stay tonight. I looked over the room, smiling fondly, and opened the door.

I skipped down the stairs and entered into the main room. It was full of witches and wizards— all happily drinking coffee and tea and eating away at apple strudels and sourdough breakfast sandwiches. I glanced around the room and spotted a tall man working at the counter. He wore a kind smile and sported dimples on both of his cheeks. _That Must be Neville,_ I thought to myself. _He looks just as nice as Hannah._

I looked over to the righthand corner of the room and sitting alone next to the window was Tom. He didn't seem to be doing anything but looking out the glass at passerby and twirling his finger around the rim of his coffee cup. Relieved to see a somewhat-familiar face, I walked over to the table.

"Hello, Tom," I said, snapping him out of his daze. "I'm Oak Hawthorne from last night. You rented a room here for me.

"Yes," he said. "Hello, I'm— well, you remember me. Tom."

"Is it _just_ Tom? No last name or anything?"

"Well, if you want to be technical, my whole name is Tom David Morrolle. Sort of like Morello, but cooler. It's Latin," he added, seeing the confused look on my face. "Sleep well?"

"As well as one can, I suppose," I answered. "Don't want to be a pest, but do you want any company?"

"Oh," he said, grinning and gesturing the the empty seat across from him, "yes, I could use a friend. I look terribly pitiful sitting here all by myself, don't you think?"

"Hah," I laughed, taking a seat in the rickety chair. "So why are you here this early?"

"Had to get out of the house. My mother and father are... being pests. You'd understand, wouldn't you, Oak?"

"I would," I responded. "I didn't know you had such trouble with your parents."

"No, I wouldn't suspect you would," he answered. "I usually keep it quiet... even among my close friends. I usually find it hard to trust people, but you seem to be a pretty trustworthy person. It's just a feeling I get."

"Thank you," I said, not knowing exactly how to respond. I was thankful I had come across someone so kind so early into my exploration of the Wizarding World. 

"So, why did you leave home?"

"I told you last night that it was because my mother was a terrible person, but I didn't elaborate. To sum things up, I came to the understanding that she valued her children less than she should have. She put my life in danger. I couldn't look at her the same way after that."

"How so?"

"Well..." I debated on whether or not to tell him about my father. I sure as hell wasn't telling him about Mrs. Orchid, but maybe I could let a few other things off my chest. "My father and my sister lost their memory because of her."

"They were Obliviated?"

"If that's the spell to get rid of memory, then yeah."

"That's terrible, Oak."

"I left because my father and sister aren't my father and sister anymore. And there's no way to get their memory back."

Tom seemed to contemplate something, opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again.

"What?" I said quickly. "Is there a way I can get their memory back?"

"No," he answered, and my spirits were once again deflated. "But I used to know of someone who could."

"What?" My stomach clenched in anticipation. _Is it possible?_

"Yes..." he said. "But regrettably, they aren't alive any more."

"Oh..."

"Yes. Passed away quite a few years ago. Had a great fall— quite a terrible accident." He must have been able to see my crushed heart through my eyes because he added, "I know how to get you to them."

"Wait, really? How? You just said they're dead."

"Yes, but time is something as changeable as the weather. If you have the right equipment, you can go anywhere you want— time be damned."

"What kind of equipment?" I asked.

"Something," he said, "I just so happen to have." He undid the top button of his button-down and took out a golden necklace. On the end of the necklace was a little hourglass.

"What is that?"

"This," he said, "is a Ministry-grade Time-Turner."

"What does that mean?"

"It means it can get you where you need to go."

"This necklace can take me back in time to the guy who can get my dad's memory back?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Wait... why don't I just go back in time and warn my dad what's going to happen so he can stop it?"

"The man who can help your father is an extremely powerful wizard," Tom said. "Your father, I wager, isn't. No offense. The toll that would take on his mind... the fact you travelled time... it would be too much. He'd go mad. Bad thing happen to wizards who meddle with time."

"Okay," I said. "Would I going to be safe using this thing?"

"Of course," he said, "if you follow my instructions."

"Tom," I started, my eyebrows pursed in confusion, "why would you do this for me? You only met me yesterday. You paid for my room last night and you'd give me this thing— I doubt it was easy to come across, the way you're making it sound."

"Because," Tom said, a grin spreading across his face but not quite reaching his eyes, "I told you... it's just a feeling I get with you. Like I could trust you with anything. And... your needs are greater than mine right now."

I wanted to tell him that didn't seem very reasonable, but I wasn't going to argue with him until he changed his mind. I had a chance to get my father and sister back and I wasn't going to squander it.

He took the necklace from around his neck and looped it over my head, letting it fall to my chest. 

"Now," he said. "When you use this, you have to remember. Though this man is powerful, he is still just a man. Men can get overwhelmed. Men can die. You need to keep this from him until the right moment."

"When's the right moment?"

"You'll know when the right moment is, Oak. You'll feel it in your gut."

"So, about this man?"

"His name is Albus Dumbledore. He used to be the head of Hogwarts. That is, until he died and Minerva McGonagall took over. Some people say he was the most powerful wizard to ever live... he was the only wizard worthy enough to rival He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named during his reign of power." 

I saw the same scarlet glint I had seen in Tom's eyes I had seen the night before. This He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named guy must be scary as hell to freak everyone out this much.

"When you arrive in the past— I'll be sending you to 1993. Don't worry— you won't have to find Dumbledore. He'll find you. You're a young wizard who isn't in school. Without a doubt, he'll figure something out so that you can get some form of education before you're too old."

"He sounds like a really kind man," I said.

Tom hesitated for a moment, then said, "he is."

We were snagged out of our conversation when a glass went flying across the room, hitting the wall and splattering hot coffee everywhere. The man who's hand it had flown out of was looking quite confused.

"Don't worry about it," Neville said, rushing out from behind the bar with a towel. "I'll get you another cup."

"Anyway," Tom said, drawing my attention back to the present. "Are you feeling up to this?"

"I have to be up to this," I said. "I have to get my family back. I can't imagine going the rest of my life without them."

"Good," he said. He rose from the table quickly and strode over to the door.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Come along. We're going to send you back in time."

"What— right _now?"_

"Yes, right now!" he said. "You've got a family to save. No time to lose."

"Oh, okay—" I hastily got up from the table and followed him out of the Leaky Cauldron. Everything was moving quite quickly, but I supposed that's just how it was in the Wizarding World.

He led me away from the front of the inn and into a side alley next to it. I caught only a glimpse of the main road— brightly-lit shops lined its sides and smoke pumped out a few of the chimneys.

"Okay," Tom said, ushering me over to the wall. "You know what you need to do?"

"Find Dumbledore— or, he'll find me— wait for the right moment to ask him about my dad and sister's memory? And... he's going to enroll me in school there?"

Tom smiled and patted me on the shoulder. "That sums it up, Oak. You seem like a _very_ smart kid. I'm sure the details along the way will work themselves out."

"Um... okay."

I had no idea what I was doing, really. Going back in time?! I was going back in time. Holy _shit..._ I was going back in time. Best not to think about it. I was getting woozy.

He took the hourglass from my chest and looked me in the eyes. For a moment, I felt as though I could see straight through his pupils. Like there was nothing beyond the deep brown of his irises. Almost like I could walk right through him like a ghost. It was absurd, I decided. How could he not be real? He was stranding right here holding the Time-Turner.

"You get nauseous easily?"

"No," I said, though lately, I wasn't really sure.

"Good." He turned the hourglass a few full times and then spun it.

"Good luck," he said.

_"Wait, that's it?!" I gasped, realizing suddenly the world was spinning. "I— Tom!"_

"I believe in you, Oakley! You're more powerful than you know!" his voice faded away with his body as the world spun faster and faster. Colors and shaped blurred together as I fell back into the wall behind me. Waves of intense nausea passed through my body and my skin felt like it was crawling across my bones. 

"Oh my god..." I muttered, gasping for air. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god..."

Finally, everything slowed to a halt and I could feel the ground beneath my feet again. My head was still spinning, but after a minute or so, it slowed down as well. I peeked around the corner and laid eyes on the street I had just caught a glimpse of— I was still in the same place. But... in a different time. It was a bit chillier than it had been a few seconds ago in the... twenty first century....

Oh my....

Witches and wizards walked up and down the crowded street in long cloaks and pointed hats. I looked extremely out of place in my jeans and canvas jacket. And my bright purple backpack. 

It was 1993. A few moments ago I was in 2019. Oh my.... Once again, the world started spinning and the edges of my vision started darkening. My legs began to fall out from under me and the last thing I saw before I passed out was the cobblestone my face was about to slam into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! We're in 1993... Harry Potter's era! What's Oakley going to do now that he's living in another time? Thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated!
> 
> P.S: Rearrange the letters in Tom David Morrolle.
> 
> — Milo


End file.
